


Gold.

by JeanSouth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 18:49:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanSouth/pseuds/JeanSouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a minibang that fell apart. Supernatural in the Assassin's Creed verse. Meh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gold.

Gabriel never really regretted his missions. They were hard, sometimes, and travel from Masayaf to Acre took him forever and a day, but that was a mere mild annoyance. When Al Mualim sends him on a mission, he takes it and smiles and does his job properly.

With a slight smirk, he climbs the wall out of the assassin's bureau, waving goodbye to his brother in arms as he goes. The day is still relatively cool, and the sun is covered by light clouds. Below him he hears the poor begging for money or food, but he brushes it away from his mind easily - he too has little, and certainly not enough to be giving anything away. He doesn't even carry gold on his person, but steals from the rich if he needs it suddenly. 

He barely feels the exertion as he moves from one beam to another with an ingrained balance and grace, and leaps towards a building across the street. His heart leaps into his throat for a moment when he almost misses it, but at the last moment his fingers grapple onto a balcony ledge, and a splinter jams into one of his fingers. At the end of the day he's always picking a house worth of wood from his skin, but it's the price he pays for the skills that he has.

His mission feels relatively simple; a target that they were hired to kill. A leader in one of the merchant's guilds accused of forcing taxes from the stallholders in the city under the guise of using it to improve their security. But someone obviously feels he's not doing just that, and Gabriel intends to find out why. 

The air is colder when he reaches a tall building and starts on his way up it; Acre's architects are both convenient and tedious people. At one point he has to push himself away from the wall and grab onto an outcropping; one wrong movement would have him plummeting to his death. It's a risky jump to make, one that he genuinely hates but never mentions. When he makes it to the top, he takes a good look with sharp eyes, identifying some of the men his brother said may have information that he could use. Two of them sit idly by a fountain, looking like they'll go nowhere fast, another walks the streets arrogantly. He's the dirty merchant's right hand man, and he has far too much arrogance because of it. Gabriel intends to fix it, and quick.

With a silent prayer, Gabriel stands on the perch he'd settled on to look over the city, and raises his arms into the air. If it goes wrong, what he does could break him, but he never intends to be wrong. Silently, he jumps, twisting and relaxing his body to let the cart of hay take the impact of his landing. It's always a sore land, but it's safer than risking a slip if he climbs back down.

He's close to the arrogant merchant, but the guards are a trouble he doesn't want to deal with for the moment. The nearby rooftops provide a perfect solution for it, with a rooftop garden for cover if he needs it. The group he watches stands still for a moment, looking at a stall while he climbs a ladder to a rooftop. A master assassin of his skill would find no challenge in men with their backs turned who don't even deign to wear armour, so he makes quick work of them with his throwing knives, watching the three men drops like flies until the merchant is alone. 

Terrified of the death around him, the man turns to run while city guards search the street for the infidel who killed them. It's no matter to Gabriel, who turns and jumps from one roof to another, climbing and dropping where he needs to. A minute or two finds his target in an alleyway with a vagrant. The vagrant shoves him; grumbling nonsense and idiocy to himself before he shambles away. It leaves Gabriel alone with him when he drops down, sliding his hidden blade out of its sheath to where it feels right; where his missing ringfinger used to be.

"Hello," He tries cheerfully, letting the man cower in a corner. He looks like nothing when not with guards; he makes Gabriel's stomach churn but it doesn't distract him. "You're awfully well dressed for a man who sold pots a few months ago." 

The idle conversation throws the man off, the tone behind it entirely passive. It's so at odds with the image of Gabriel in white and red, full of leather. The man nods quickly, holding his hands up while he mumbles pathetically. Gabriel demands a how and a why of him, making him open his mouth to spill confessions.

"Serge," He whimpers quietly, trying to back himself up despite being pressed against the firm stone walls. "He knows I know them all; all the merchants, that is. He came to me with ambitious eyes and a snake tongue. He shares with me the profits we make; calls me partner. He is the one, though. He controls it, I am innocent, I do what is asked of me."

He rambles on though Gabriel tunes it out; the lavish robes and guards are more than enough to convince him that the money is not being used honestly. Normally lower ranked assassins, or an apprentice of his own would find out this information, but for a job that was bought on the basis of morals he wishes to see it for himself. As it is, he's set two of his apprentices to an impossible task; a test to see if they'll see through his lies and find that the truth isn't real. For one he has high hopes, and the other he hopes may surprise him and go against his doubts. The third he's almost sure is ready to take the next rank, and has sent him to Damascus on his own assassination. If he comes back successful, he'll be granted new abilities.

With a wave of his blade-less left hand, Gabriel stops the man from talking. It's been long enough, and he learns nothing new.

"Thank you," He says quietly, already calculating how he'll get out of there. The man smiles at him, asking if he can go. This always happens; people just don't understand what assassins do anymore. With a shake of his head, he steps closers. "But no. I can't let you know I'm here."

His hidden blade scrapes bone when he forces it through fabric and through the man's ribcage; right into his heart. Blood flows warm over his hand, but it'll wash off the leather on his wrist easily. Before the man can even utter his final scream, Gabriel is past him and up a wall; six rooftops away before anyone even gets to him to investigate.

It's a relief when he gets to his next targets though; they'll be easier, and he'll blend in while he does it. A few people turn to look when he jumps down from the rooftop and curls into himself to absorb the impact, but they quickly keep going on with their lives as if he'd never been there at all. The men he needs to see are still on the same bench, and he drags his fingers through the water of the fountain before sitting on the edge of it. He looks casual, like a man taking a break from a long walk through the market despite his lack of purchases. The men don't even pay attention to him.

They're tax collectors for Serge; burly men. One of them has an impressive beard, where the other is entirely bald with a long scar on his scalp. They talk for a good half an hour about this and that before they talk about something Gabriel wants to hear, but the sun has emerged and shines on him, warming his face while the fountain keeps him cool.

"I hate this," The bearded man says, leaning forward. His legs are spread, and he rests his elbows on them. He doesn't watch his companion and doesn't angle towards him, so he speaks loud enough for it to carry to Gabriel easily. "He wants a 'percentage'. Why? Why not a fixed amount of gold? I hate standing there for half an hour for the idiot scholar he hired to catch up and do math."

His companion grunts, mimicking his position. They don't seem like bad men to Gabriel, just men doing what they believe is honest work to bring home food. 

"He's so arrogant, too. He never even looks at me when I bring him the gold, just throws me scraps and locks himself away to count all his gold." He rolls his eyes, then laughs quietly a bit. At the look he gets from his companion, he shrugs. "He probably bathes in it. No wonder he's always alone when he counts the gold."

Their conversation is enough for Gabriel, and he has everything. His cause for the assassination, the where and how. All buildings here have disgustingly easy access, no doubt Serge's will too.

Within a quarter of an hour he's back to the bureau, relaying what he knows with a certainty only those as experienced as he can possess. The feather he gains is a pure white, but short. Doubtlessly it'll get ruffled in his pockets, but it'll still do its task at the end of the day. It's midevening as he sits on the table, making idle conversation. The taxes are collected early morning on Tuesdays, so not until the morning. 

He sleeps idly in a small home he knows belongs to a rich man that spends most of his time in Jerusalem, confident that even on the small chance the man came back, he would easily be cowed into not caring that Gabriel was there. Having knives and knowledge got him far in life. 

In the morning he waits on a rooftop in the rich district, relaxing in the roof garden while he listens sharply for the clink of coins. The window into Serge's main room is a few paces away; it's doubtful the man would ever suspect an assassin to be within his own home. He has guards, though, and no doubt they'll chase him on the assumption that they'll be compensated for catching him. Gabriel personally thinks chasing him is pointless, considering that he always gets away, but they'll try. The city guards always join in too, much to his chagrin.

It's a while before the door closes and the sound of bags of coins being tipped out fills the place, but he waits until Serge will truly be engrossed in his counting before he goes. Not only that, but he hopes the greedy swine will put it back into a back, as he intends to take the gold as compensation for his time. He sees it as the payment from all the merchants combined. In the back of his mind he suspects one of them has hired him, but making one pay for what benefits them all in the case of a selfish leader sits wrong with Gabriel.

His faith is rewarded when he easily slides out of the roof garden and sees several bags of coins on the table. They'll fit nicely in the pouches on his belt, after all. The ignorant fool doesn't even notice him approaching until Gabriel silently slides in through the window quietly and appears next to him. He screams and kicks over the table when he catches sight of him, but the cry is quickly silenced by Gabriel's hidden blade penetrating his neck. By the time he swoops down to grab three heavy pouches of gold and stash them, the guards are already inside with sword drawn, but he rushes past them and out the front window, rolling as he hits the floor.

The guards at the door come after him as those in the house yell for him to stop, catching the attention of the city guards. They're everywhere, and Gabriel takes off at a run. There's nowhere to climb up easily right now, so he takes a left and a right and a left as people chase him, diving through a stall of pots and tripping as he goes. A hand grabs his arm, and for a split second he thinks they're going to throw him like they always do, but it drags him inside the little shop instead, stashing him under the counter. It's remarkably kind of him after all of his pots got broken, Gabriel thinks.

A deep voice calls that he went another left, but it doesn't come from the person attached to the long - long - legs standing behind him. When he looks up, a handsome templar is strutting away with an attractive scholar walking a little bit too close. It makes Gabriel grin a bit; it's not the first time a templar has been won over to the side of peace by a pretty face and a smart mind.

"They like to listen to Castiel," The stall owner says, rolling his eyes. "He's friends with my brother, and he said you were fine. After I said you were fine."

He's reasonably handsome, with strong arms and a broad chest, when Gabriel takes a good look at him. His clothes are fine enough to make him obvious as one of the more wealthy merchants, which makes it impressive that he still stands behind his own stall rather than hiring someone to do it for him. His hair is a little overlong, a sweet brown and a bit wavy. 

Ignoring all the broken merchandise, he tugs Gabriel up and into the stock room in the building behind his stall, closing the door firmly. Light filters in generously from the high windows, making it obvious that the merchant is a good many inches taller than he is. Confidence is his skills with various blades keeps his from feeling awkward, though.

"Sam," The stranger says, holding out his hand. They're nice hands, large and calloused from long days of hard labour, little places where there were splinters from reasons entirely different from Gabriel's reasoning. "I guess you're the assassin. Since they want you for Serge Azar's murder."

For a moment Gabriel almost wants to smile, because he likes it when someone that seems genuinely nice requests a moral job, but he feels a little bad for breaking his pots, too, so he shakes Sam's hand and gives his name. He also gives an apology, but it's waved away with the promise of payment as Sam tries to let go of his hand.

Instead of letting go, he holds on with his other hand to, catching Sam's attention. He shakes his head, determined to be the one with the proverbial last word.

"I took gold from him before I went." He says, shaking his head again, dropping his hand. For a second it looks like Sam's going to protest, so he lifts his hand with his missing ringfinger. The lack catches Sam's eye for a second, but it quickly goes back to where it should be. "And I broke your pots. We're even." 

"No." Sam says, very firm and very determined. He moves towards where Gabriel presumes his gold is stashed again, but sighs with a resigned look. With an eyeroll, he shrugs. "Only if you agree to let me treat you to dinner. Killing must be hungry work."

It looks like the topic makes him a little nervous, but not as nervous as someone who never encountered death would have reacted. Gabriel suspects Sam didn't start rich, but clawed his way up from the bottom and saw a lot of things on his way there. Him and his brother both, Gabriel knows plenty of men who went from rock bottom and gained knowledge, then settled into a quieter life as a scholar. Many of them travel and work, and a good many of them can fight, even if the majority give the impression of being calm and quiet. If he had to guess, he'd say they were both probably feisty.

"Sure," He nods, dropping his hands. It's midday, and he should take the feather he brushed over Serge's neck wound back to his fellow assassin to let him know the job is done. "Where should I find you tonight?" 

Gabriel leaves with a map and a smile as Sam gives him a pleased look, figuring out what merchandise is broken, what can be fixed and what is whole. About three quarters of it looks like it isn't hopelessly ruined, but the remaining quarter still makes him feel bad, so he makes a note of sending some business Sam's way.

After he delivers his feather and finishes his mission, he takes a while to steal some extra throwing knives. It's hard to find a private place with water, but eventually he finds a private garden with a large fountain that lacks its owner's presence. Sitting on the edge of it, he strips off his leathers and sets to cleaning them from the blood and dirt that gather on them over time. Cleaned up properly they're a rich dark brown, with a sheath for his hidden blade and buckles to keep it tight. 

When he's done he brushes back his hood, wetting his hands and running them over his face. Without being at a safe place, he refuses to completely strip down to nothing, but the water feels good nonetheless, and home isn't far in the long run. With a damp cloth he cleans his boots too, and the rest of the leather he has on him. It's not as good as laundering everything, but he feels like a more presentable houseguest.

It's a few hours from evening before he can politely go to dinner, so he wanders the market in the poor district, buying a whetstone here and strong thread to fix one of his leather pouches there. They're things he needs at the end of the day, and the poorer merchants really do need the custom. Stashing the items, he wanders until it's time.

Sam's home is in the middle district, large enough to be plenty comfortable. Whatever he's making smells delicious, filled with spices. Before he can stop himself, he unlocks the door and walks in, getting a startled look for his intrusion. Before he can apologise they both end up laughing, and by the time they're done he no longer needs to.

"That smells great," He starts with instead, seating himself at a nice, dark wood table. It draws a smile from Sam at the very least, and a good stir of one of the three pots. "Really great. I could smell it from outside."

"Thanks, it's a type of curry. My own recipe, and it's not too spicy. It's more sweet." Sam smiled a bit, checking the rice. For a moment he couldn't help but wonder if he was early until he was enlisted to crush a few last-minute spices. Standing together making dinner was something he hadn't done in a very long time; he'd been with the templars when he was born, and liberated by the brotherhood with the choice to join or leave. He chose to join, but also to keep his name from the christian god despite converting from overbearing religion to no religion. His name was a part of him, despite how often his identity was hidden in his line of work. 

Making idle conversation, he got through dinner easily. He got through the entire evening easily, and the subsequent week of nights filled with dinner and chatter. He was leaving when he ran into his apprentice. He looked frantic, explaining that he was caught and two men were after him. Though reluctant to leave, protecting the brotherhood came first. On his way, he missed the week he'd spent already. Sam loved garlic and dates, and had a terribly huge stock of olives that he was determined to serve to Gabriel with a crisp red wine. He was smart, too, and had books and questions and logic that thrilled Gabriel's philosophical mind. Sam had fallen asleep once or twice during a lull in conversation on a comfortable bit of furniture.

And tracking the men looking for Adam was long work, tiring and hard to make sure the dead men didn't leave any leads to finding Adam. He was young, and youth made mistakes easily. He knew he did, himself. Getting back was even harder, not pushing his horse too much to get back to Sam.

Which is when he realizes, he might have a bit of a crush on this huge man filled with cooking and knowledge and a wonderful moral compass (which Gabriel can't claim to possess for himself). So he stops for a second outside the city, climbing onto one of the walls to get in without the guards checking him over. On principle, Gabriel doesn't like to deny himself thing that will harmlessly make him happy, but if he's honest he's never really experienced heartbreak before, and he doesn't want to now. His last relationship parted mutually when his partner left for the Orient.

But Gabriel, after all, is an assassin of the brotherhood, and he doesn't intend to be stopped by a little fear. Fear never stopped him from dangerous jobs or dangerous men or dangerous climbs, and Sam is certainly someone he wants to climb. So he drops by the bureau, tells Adam he's fine and won't die this week, and takes off. 

Of course Sam isn't home when he gets there, so he waits instead, fiddling with his knives. When Sam gets in, he really intends to tell him about having feelings, but instead he manages to stand up, get close and drag him down for an incredibly long kiss. When he turns to move away, he gets dragged back the way Sam did when they first met. Except this time he's dragged into a kiss instead of shoved under a register.

"Sam, I-"

"Not now," Sam interrupts, practically picking him up, kissing him all the way up the stairs. There aren't even that many stairs, but they take forever to navigate when Gabriel's tugging on Sam's hair insistently, biting his bottom lip and rubbing against him. He feels like there's not much he can do but let his desires overtake him when Sam topples them onto the bed, then stops. Gabriel can't fathom any good reason for him to stop.

"You want this, right?" Sam asks, watching him with open honesty, ready to stop if Gabriel isn't ready. And that's exactly what pulls him over the edge, dragging Sam down and rolling them over through pure expertise of using his body to get him where he wants to be. Sam is heavy, so it's easier to be on top. Sam's neck is a little salty and a little dusty from a day of hard work when he leans down to taste it.

He has his knees on either side of Sam's hips, leaning forward to assault his neck with kisses and bites. Absently he strips off his gauntlets and pouches full of gold and poison and throwing knives, tossing them to the floor. His sword follows quickly, and without all those to hold his clothes up, everything from the waist up is pushed off easily. His chest has scars here and there, bruises from odd landings, but it's still nothing to look at when he gets Sam's shirt off and looks at the impressive muscles. 

Without a second thought he leans down to bite at one pert nipple, tugging gently until he gets a gasp. Sam's hands are on his ass, working hard to get his pants off. Their clothes are nothing but in the way until they get them off, leaving them on the floor. 

Sam is tanned all over with prominent hip bones and a lovely cock nestled in a thatch of brown curls. It's long and thick, but not unnecessarily huge. It looks practically lickable, so he does, he leans down and enjoys himself with it thoroughly until Sam grabs him and pushes him back, breathing a 'stop' as his cock drips eagerly.

Instead he leans away, reaching out with amazing long arms for a jar of rose oil. The scent is strong when he opens it and tips it over his fingers, and he really does have amazingly long fingers and big hands, slicked by oil and ready to slide inside him. Leaning back, he spreads his legs with only slight hesitance. Sam leans over him, kissing him deeply as his fingers seek out their goal. Not having Sam watching every motion makes him feel less nervous, and he rolls his hips to push the invading fingers deeper, holding Sam's head close.

Gabriel's by no means a virgin, and he adjusts quickly to getting used to being spread again, feeling two then three fingers sliding in and out of him in an unsteady pattern, shallowly fucking him before penetrating deep, making him break the kiss and moan out loud, legs entirely spread.

It's not long before Sam stops and moves, going slow to let him adjust to the size of a cock inside him again after so long of just having his own fingers satisfy him. The feeling is one he's always felt, fullness with a little awkwardness, and the thrill of having someone inside him, but knowing it's Sam is an utterly amazing feeling.

"Move," He urges quietly, shifting back and worth with a teasing look. "Or I'm going on top again."

It gets him a laugh, but it also gets Sam to start moving, going slow and continuously picking up his pace. It's not new, but it's as amazing as ever, so he wraps his legs around Sam's waist and urges him to go faster, harder, until they're both breathing hard despite all the stamina they have, clinging to eachother hard. Sam's got his angles perfectly right, and it's not long for Gabriel before he comes hard over his own stomach, coming to from his orgasm to catch Sam's just as he's got his breathing back under control. With quick wit, he tips them to the side, letting the air cool his hot skin.

"I hope that wasn't considered paying me for my services," He says eventually, breaking the silence with a joke. He doesn't take Sam for that kind of man, but for what he's learned of him so far he'll think it's funny too. A small chuckle is his reward, but Sam seems like a sleepy lover, so he drags them both under a thin blanket.

Sleep comes to him easily, and for once he doesn't resent waking up early, because it's to Sam groaning and stretching, letting the blankets slide down to his hipbones and rest there. The sun is only just coming up, casting everything in deep shadows. It's still cool from the night, but Gabriel has always radiated heat. There's no surprise when Sam rolls over and buries his face in the crook of Gabriel's neck, murmuring that he doesn't want to wake up and see the day, but if he doesn't Dean will come to his door and yell at him for not getting up. 

"Up, up. I've had to be up for days at a time before," Gabriel protests playfully, tugging softly on Sam's hair, but he ends up stuck underneath a large pile of tired, heavy male. 

"Noooo, Gabe," Sam tries one last time, before he's bodily made to sit up, and can't fall back down because of Gabriel behind him. He finds that he likes Gabe, too, so he leans around and gives Sam a kiss before shoving him towards the edge of the bed, earning him a whine. He has to go to the bureau today, considering he's the highest ranked assassin in town and thus cares for all the stray apprentices. It's not a bad job, and he likes the apprentices. They're very eager. He really could get used to it, he sorta thinks. "Drop by with lunch?" 

Gabriel nods, dressing himself quickly and easily, stealing a kiss before he goes (out of the window, because really, he can't help himself, what assassin can), over rooftops and guards and a dozen types of trouble, straight into a new routine that he's surprised he's actually sticking to. The apprentices idolise him, and he enjoys them despite all the trouble them they bring with them all the time. They know where to find him, too, and they just smirk and bite their tongues (because Gabriel could very well send them sifting through a pig sty).

A few months later finds Gabriel at dinner with Sam and his brother and the templar with the ridiculously blue eyes, and it's not the first nor the last time. The templar is smart but quiet, unfamiliar with the customs or the language of the land. He's not of a low rank, either, but rather some who came because he was good rather than that he had no other choice of employment. He promises Dean books in hidden libraries back in the west if he'd like to see them, someday, when the crusades are over, and Sam jokes that he can take his ship if he likes, but it starts them all off on a conversation about travel and boats, and Gabriel can't help but shoot Sam a suggestive look, and gets a motion that says 'later' in return.

Even if they put it off for ages, Gabriel insists on taking Sam to Masayaf and Jerusalem and every other place he can think of. He finds out that they do well together, and like to ride horses, and he teaches Sam how to climb small buildings without falling off, and Sam gets him out of trouble fairly often (so does Castiel, but no one ever breathes a word about that), and life is actually generally pretty good. In the end he has to smile at the brotherhood's philosophy, because he didn't really find truth inside himself. He found himself with Sam.


End file.
